


Ain't Nobody Got Time for Ghosts

by Soulbarebones



Series: Rock the Cradle [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Slice of Death, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulbarebones/pseuds/Soulbarebones
Summary: Just another night in the dormitory





	Ain't Nobody Got Time for Ghosts

There was a woman in the men's dorm. It was past the curfew and she was unaccompanied, alone in the common area. She was always there, it seemed. Brown hair hanging down between her shoulder blades as she stared out the window.

 

Matson tried to ignore her as he shuffled to the bathroom but her head turned and he felt her dark eyes follow him until he pushed through the door.

 

She was there when he turned away from the urinal to wash his hands and he stumbled around her to avoid going through her. “Jesus!” he swore in surprise but by the time he'd made it to the sink, he'd recovered from shock. He was still reeling though, drunker than he'd been in a long time. Drunker than he usually allowed himself to get.

 

“I can't help you,” he said. That wasn't necessarily true, but the fact of the matter was, Matson didn't want to play ghost-detective. Didn't want to spend his life being mocked for a talent he hadn't asked for and had no control over.

 

The girl didn't speak, she only glowered, and then, one by one, the sink taps adjacent to him turned on.

 

Calm despite the hairs prickling on his back and arms, Matson rinsed the soap from his palms, wiped them on his sweat pants, and side stepped the girl without looking at her. He already knew that her face was bloated and purple on one side and there were leaves matted in the hair that fell like a curtain over that same half of her face.

 

In the hallway, he passed someone else, taking the same late-night trek toward the bathroom. “I think the taps are busted again, dude...” he warned, if only to avoid taking the blame for tampering with them.

 

“Fuck that,” the guy said, half turning. “I'm using the one at the other end of the hall. That one's haunted, or some shit.”

 

“Sure,” Matson smiled and put his hand on his door. “If you believe in ghosts...”


End file.
